Just Bliss

Chechnya

 On the corner of the lane

In ashen grim evening

The freezing wind stopped

For a moment—-

Glanced at the shivering children

Singing them the frosty lullaby

Covered them with snow quilt

And you!

You’re so weird

Call them snow-angels

…….

On the stairway of December

When winter wearily and slowly

Steps on the stairs of December

A figure wrapped in fog and

Lonesomeness,

asks a black stone to get up.

Why wait lie there

In gloominess and UN noticed.

Accept the truth that

No rain can wash the mayhem of

Misfortune

…………

Do you know—–?

The velvet touch of

Your half-finished love

When quivers on my palms

Even today

The lines on my palm disrupt;

Silently then whisper to me,

Half finished, love, partial dreams

Uncompleted delights are

The spheres of agony

Around which bodies get sapped

Moving around them

Do you know why?

It’s in their fate to do so

……

Do you know—–?

The soft warm touch of

Your half-finished love

The lines on my palm disrupt,

 quivering on my palms

Even today;

Silently then whisper to me,

Half finished, love,

partial dreams and

Uncompleted delights are

The spheres of agony

Around which bodies get sapped

Moving around them

Do you know why?

It’s in their fate to do so

……

Listen—!

I’ve to write

 Appealing love poems

In your name!

I’ll insert your touch

In my poetry in such a way

That the fearful girl in you

Who’s scared of love?

Becomes herself the love badge

And writes on it that—

Love is not scared of anything

But

Lonesomeness

You——

Have you ever seen eyes in waiting?

No, you’ve not!

I have seen

Can you sense the agony of waiting?

When entering the body

Turns all the veins blue;

Then the eyes die before the body does

But, you know the eyes waiting for———

Never actually perish after expiration!

They only get veiled in fog and mist.

You can’t envision all this

You can’t either feel it

To wait, isolation, fear and sadness

Are the words, not found in your dictionary!

You——–

……………….

It’s agony!

Pain is the overseer

Of living corpses,

Of floating tears in wet eyes

Of clapping of small hands

Of the mother’s portrait

Without a frame; by a painter’s pen.

The pain rules everywhere

Pain springs out from all

Mountains, meadows, vales

Rivers, winds and dales;

Pain dances all over

It’s all agony

……………